The ferry beckoned – ‘The Pride of Rotterdam’, built in Venice in 2001. Quite a comfortable vessel but once onboard there’s nothing to do other than eat and drink. Neither of which appeal. A three course evening meal or gargantuan ‘Full English’ are fair enough if you’re burning calories, on say a bike tour, but I’d spend the next day steering and changing gear whilst sat on my derrière. I retired early with a magazine and a salad and was soon looking at the inside of my eye lids. 

The plan was to drive to Luxembourg to collect Anna from the airport and then we’d trundle around locally in Germany and France before I’d deposit her back at the airport, she’d fly home and move I’d continue in France. We’d be in a hotel whilst she was here and I was alone I’d camp.

We didn’t disembark until past 9.15am. I walked down to the car deck whilst all the motorcyclists waddled, with difficulty, down to their motorcycles. Is being over weight mandatory to ride these powerful machines? From here it was the pointless queue for the customs chap to stamp my passport. Clearly the EU’s revenge for Brexit is characteristically bureaucratic although the official asked about my car but forgot to enquire as to whether the chassis was made of wood. The road system around the port of Rotterdam is modern but with a spaghetti of parallel roads beside or above you. I think I made two errors as I relied on Google Maps. Unfortunately (or fortunately) I was missing my ‘Little Helper’. This passenger bonus was always ready, I’d found, to offer such pearls of wisdom as ‘you’re in the wrong lane’ or ‘shouldn’t you be indicating now?’ and ‘are you thinking of turning your lights on as we go into the tunnel?’. Her real crowd pleaser is ‘the lights have turned green’. A way to deactivate this guidance is to utter the words ‘Would you like to f’ing drive?’ This guarantees silence for a little whilst while I show no contrition for continuing to take the wrong turnings!

Holland contains some lovely folk but it’s a dreary place and soon I crossed the border to Belgium. Frankly, this part of Belgium is painfully flat as well. I had plenty of time to drive toward the Luxembourg border and so I avoided motorways. This meant I followed a series of bin wagons, tractors and learner drivers through small but busy towns. This sedate progress allowed me to reflect on the two official Belgian languages: Flemish and French. I noted that all the road signs in the Flemish speaking part were in Flemish and then French in the French speaking. It seems both languages don’t need to be duplicated everywhere to satisfy the sensitivities of either party. Obviously if the language everyone speaks is English but you’re Canadian, Welsh, Irish and even some Scots then multiple gratuitous language signs are mandatory.

Having the hood down was lovely but it was hot. 30°C soon racked up and an investment in another hat seemed unavoidable or I’d become a ‘Guernsey Tom’. 

I’d cycled this route in 2019, on my way to Vienna. So I knew that as I headed south east that the hills would appear in the Ardennes. It took 150 miles before a gradient appeared. I know this because I was watching my tripometer. I was also watching my fuel gauge, however, this wasn’t revealing as it permanently read the following. 

After about 200 miles I thought I’d top Samantha up and pulled into a petrol station with automatic pumps with the instructions in French. ‘Quelle surprise’ I hear you say. Anyway a very attractive young girl was at the pump next to mine and I enquired ‘Do you speak English?’ Of course she did and set me off on the long laborious task of putting petrol into the car. It is laborious because it kicks back after every 5 seconds and it can take 10 minutes to put a decent quantity of fuel in.

I reflected later about my lady assistant being all smiley and helpful and wondered if I’d been 40 years younger would she have been as relaxed? Sadly, yet, usefully, at my age you look helpless and harmless and no threat! Eventually the campsite I’d also used in 2019 came into view and Reception was shut. Not a problem as you paid a machine (€18) and a ticket popped out with all the details including the wi-fi code. Less easy was using the password to raise the site barrier. In a right hand drive Morgan you’re on the wrong side for the barrier key pad and a 18 inches beneath it. So get out and do it that way Tony! I did and when I had got back into the car it’d shut again. I eventually gained access asking a passing bloke to punch the numbers it.

Dinner and a beer followed. Not least so I could get some change to buy a token for the shower. By 7pm it was nearly cool enough to take a shower and to stay dry afterwards. Hopefully it’s history and chicken schnitzel tomorrow. 

I suppose an ‘elephant in the room’, for this blog, is Donald Trump, I haven’t mentioned him yet although I know there won’t be a news broadcast in the UK that won’t fail to talk about him, the tariffs, Ukraine or other Trumpian initiatives. When on holiday I glance at the BBC App headlines daily and that’s about it for news interest but without any invitation the Donald has crept into our conversations with some of the natives. 

Simply put I’d say rural Americans are enthusiastic about him but urban, possibly better heeled and educated Americans, are seemingly less so. Texas is a Republican voting State though. Our Airbnb hosts in Austin were anti and the wife departed during our stay to participate in a ‘Hands Off’ protest in the middle of Austin. This march was a protest about all things right wing whether his or the Republicans attitude to the LBGTQ communities, education, abortion, Ukraine etc.  Another person we met at the Ashley McBryde concert, herself a dreary and garrulous lesbian (one of her first declarations) who unloaded her life story on us between the support act and Ashley McBryde, seldom stopping to take breath, availed us of her hostility to all things Trump. Lastly a sweet 77 year old volunteer lady, at a museum, who we struck up a conversation with about her heritage and travels embarked on comparing Trump’s regime to the Nazis and Hitler. These were all women; maybe men may feel less isolated, frightened and hostile? Anyway enough politics.

So after our San Antonio concert we saddled up for a bit of beach time and drove south to the Gulf coast, namely Corpus Christi. Here we rented a place near the beach and planned to chill and see a few sights. For all its coastal/resort charm Corpus Christi is the eighth biggest Texan city with over 300,000 residents and is quite urban and concrete. Our apartment on Padre Island was separated from the mainland by a big long bridge. We were on the first floor in a block of apartments. Beneath us lurked Stacey and her man. Stacey, nearer 40 than 30, was smashed when we passed by her apartment but she leapt out, in her bikini, and apologised profusely? We never understood why but it may have been to do with the fact they had rented our apartment prior to our arrival. In a slur she invited us join her for dinner: they were cooking, in a cauldron, a load of fish they’d caught or bought. The cauldron sat on a burner amongst assorted detritus they’d amassed beside their front door. We never responded and hurried up the stairs prophetically to her beatbox playing Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’. 

The next morning Stacey was sat near her door with white stick on patches beneath her eyes. This was to reduce puffiness she advised. Clearly the binge drinking had taken its toll. More strangely her partner was also wearing them. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing when I saw him. Again we hurried on. Our last conversation with Stacey came later in the day when she was clothed but in full make up and was outside smoking, f’ing and blinding to her partner about whatever and then took the opportunity to regale us with parts of her life story. She worked in the oil and gas industry, was clairvoyant but was currently angry that her meditation was interrupted by some noisy neighbours. We nodded sympathetically, thought privately she was no better than the neighbours and made our exit again. After midnight we heard loud music from their flat and her either singing or intermittently screaming. I suspect drugs may have been her choice later in the evening. Next morning she wasn’t outside and we slipped away glad for no further banter.

Three, happier, memorable things happened on our stay here . The first was visiting the Texan Sealife Center. These volunteers find and nurse to health turtles that come ashore ill or injured. Ill health can be because the weather affects their eating or have growths on their limbs because of a virus. Injuries occur through shark attacks or boating accidents. They can lose limbs. Some turtles are never returned to the sea as they can’t fend for themselves and become permanent residents. In the centre there were also some injured birds and even some reptiles. I found it all very heartening and thought all the youngsters we met doing this work were terrific.

Second was a visit to a WW2 aircraft carrier, the USS Lexington. This was permanently moored off the beach. It was commissioned in 1942 and was in the navy reserve up until the 1990s. It did see active service and suffered a kamikaze attack that killed 47 crew and over 130 injured. Wandering around below decks was interesting as were the selection of very steep stairwells that made me realise my aspirations of being a Jolly Jack Tar were improbable due to my decrepitude. We spent three hours up and down the vessel before departing for some tacos.

Lastly near our apartment was near a busy beach. To our horror this beach allowed vehicular access. Inevitably the trucks brought music, gazebos and BBQ’s to the sand. Heaven help turtles thinking of laying some eggs? However, further up the coast we found a beach that was deserted and walked a couple of miles where Tony played ornithology. Even better was that his phone automatically identified the species!

With Corpus Christi ticked off it was back on the interstate for a long drive north to Texas Hill Country.

After leaving Texas’ most populous city, Houston, we stayed en route to the second most populous city, San Antonio, at Schulenburg. Anna’s research had identified this Interstate stop off as quaint with painted German churches. On arrival a quick drive around revealed a ramshackle settlement that may be described as a ‘one horse town’ but ‘ohne pferd’. (One for Google Translate.) Also no painted churches that we could see. On the evening we found an Italian restaurant close by the hotel and then had an early night.

Next morning the Interstate took us to the centre of San Antonio and the Downtown area that also housed the Alamo. The Downtown area is built up but it features an exquisite set of canals that dissect restaurants and hotels. In the sunshine it looked wonderful. It seems that all these hotels accommodate conference attendees that flood into the town and conference centres. 

Nearby the Alamo was a fort that was built by the Spanish, then occupied by the Mexicans and then the Texans or Texians (as the Republic of Texas knew its citizens.) The Mexicans via a siege in February 1836 and subsequent attack retook the fort and the church with all the Texian defenders killed. They then went onto murder other combatants (a total of about 200). This proved to be a call to arms for all Texians as well as men from outside the State for the next battle. Weeks later the Mexican army met the Texians at San Jacinto and this time the Mexicans were routed with considerable loss of life (650) but little for the Texians (11). Here the Texians, via treaty, gained their independence and the Mexicans struggled home. The reality was that the Mexicans thought they’d recover Texas in due course, of course we know they didn’t.

So this location is important to Texans as a vital yet bloody event in their achievement of independence. The ‘money shot’ is the outside of the church, in the then fort grounds. On this day there were many tourists and most spoke Spanish. 

In Texas any signage is in English and Spanish. In hospitality or retail the staff are South American. I say South American rather than Mexican because I think this Latino workforce comes from Central American countries as well as Mexico. Go into Walmart and the shoppers are Latino or go to an attraction the visitors are Latino. In one hotel I asked a member of staff for something and she didn’t speak English. She whipped out her mobile phone and we found the Spanish for ‘butter’ via a translation App. Employment here doesn’t demand the ability to speak English obviously. I once was told by an American guy whose family was from El Salvador that within decades Spanish would be the most popular language in the USA. I believe him.

Wondering around the centre we found an Indian restaurant for lunch before heading to the suburbs to our hotel. Driving in this city of 1.5 million people was no fun. Some of the roads and gradients wouldn’t be out of place in a theme park. Cars regularly took the ramps/turnings off or joined. It made you continually vigilant of vehicles swapping lanes at high speeds and trying to avoid being stuck on pesky exit roads when they diverted off the main route. After check-in I ventured out to sort out a SIM card problem and find a record store. Both were successful missions and I got some new country music vinyl at $8 and $3 each. In the UK this would be £30 a pop. It has to be said such bargains were unusual.

The next day we visited the Botanical Gardens. These were meh! I love a botanical garden. Mainly for the trees, shade and non-indigenous blooms. This newer site had no trees bar a few in a Japanese garden and there were some flowers, especially the orchids and roses that looked lovely but otherwise it wasn’t a memorable garden.

The night was. We attended a concert about 15 miles away from our hotel and so another white knuckle drive on the road system took us there. Any music on a hot summer’s evening outside with a beer seems a great idea and this was a holiday highlight – Ashley McBryde.

After Anna’s Austrian ankle break last August and the time she’s spent recovering holidays were put on the back burner. However, making up for lost time we arranged a couple of weeks in the Lone Star state. (By the way, Anna’s now very mobile and her recovery is a testament to the surgery/care she received and her diligent rehab regime.)

We’ve never been to Texas and as it’s as big as Europe and there’s plenty to see and do albeit with a little driving (understatement.) Austin appealed because it’s the state capital and country music!  From here we’d take in the Space Center at Houston, then to San Antonio for a look and concert. Afterwards it’s down to the coast and a stay at Corpus Christi. Flying out of Heathrow meant hauling down to London from Yorkshire by train but this was compensated by a relatively cheap upgrade to ‘World Traveller’ from Economy with British Airways. For a nine hour flight the extra space is a boon.

In Austin Anna chose an Airbnb for our three nights and this was on the outskirts of the centre. The first thing that hits you (again) is that the USA is no longer cheap. Historically you could buy in dollars what it cost in pounds or usually cheaper. Now it’s way more expensive including food/dining. Tipping is a usual demand starts at 15 or 18%. You even get asked this when inserting your card into the reader at the counter of a coffee shop for a take out! Austin is big and sits on the Colorado river. In the centre skyscrapers abound. We walked around (24,300 steps!) on our first day but when we went out for an evening music walking tour we took an Uber feeling very lardy. For the distance of a couple of miles we paid $23 but that cost was soon forgotten as a driverless Jaguar turned up. School boy thrill time! (When we did take a taxi with a driver it’s always interesting to learn where the driver originates from. One was from Afghanistan and got residency because he worked with the US military and the other was a large bloke from Cameroon.)

The city sells itself as being the live music capital of the USA. I personally don’t think so after having been to Nashville but our guide, a musician herself, took us around some venues and even sang. She had a great voice and gave us a few bars of ‘Crazy’ by Patsy Cline as an illustration of one of the songs written by the city’s living legend, Willie Nelson.

In fact I think Willie’s done a lot to put the city on the map. The focus of the music nightlife is 6th Street. This is a pale shadow of Nashville’s Lower Broadway but the deal is the same ie. bars with live music. We bowled up to the San Jac Saloon where a couple of acts were strumming away fighting the inevitable rowdy background of the revellers. We enjoyed Bron Burbank who worked his way through covers and ploughed on despite the indifference.

The next day we returned to the airport to collect a car we booked. I’d wanted a BMW X1 for the 1,000+ miles I’d be driving but ‘or similar’ in the booking meant I stood a considerable chance of disappointment. Yup, no BMW but a Mercedes GLA came as the consolation. I absorbed the blow with good grace. First stop on our return to East Austin central was an American breakfast at Sawyer & Co for eggs, bacon, gravy and a biscuit. This was hip and I added about 15 years to average age in the busy Sunday morning restaurant. Fortified it was time for history and drove up to the State Capital building.

This contains the legislature of Texan senators, congressmen and the Governor. It’s a wonderful building and we enjoyed a tour up the various levels. The legislature only sits for about 140 days a year and apart from a flat salary of $7,500 a year they receive, in addition, about $220/day expenses. Needless to say they all have other jobs. (The Governor only receives around $150,000 pa.) It’s a very historic building and there are several paintings of 19th century notables who led Texas to independence out of Mexico. (More of all this in a later blog.) The grounds similarly have many statues of other Texan worthies.

Back at our digs we discovered our intended honky-tonk destination was shut on a Sunday. That was the Broken Spoke, a little out of town. However our hosts said, in walking distance, was the White Horse, honky-tonk and maybe worth a visit. So venturing out the good news was that the large numbers of homeless men were not present who, frankly, carpet some streets. They never threatened us but their condition and presence was a miserable sight to see. It seems all major US cities have large numbers who simply seem to survive rather than live.

The White Horse was all I could have dreamed of from the neon signage, a full dance floor two-stepping and a fabulous band – Silo Road. They could really play and mixed originals with covers as couple span around in front of us. Before you ask, then ‘no’. I have the coordination of a pedal bin and most of these dancers were skilled. All the country music songs I know talk of dancing on ‘hardwood floors’ but this was concrete but bore the throng happily. Back at the Airbnb we packed as tomorrow we were headed east for rockets!

My first thoughts were getting to the hospital but on this day, the Tuesday after the Sunday accident I waited at the hotel for the Collinson call. This came with the usual telephone line being dropped and I was offered two flights. One at 10pm on Wednesday night or one at tea time on Friday from Munich. Anna would get three seats to herself to rest her leg in plaster. The problem here was that there were no midweek flights out of Salzburg and so we’d have to travel further afield. Consulting Anna I took the Wednesday, the logic being that the sooner we got to England then the sooner she’d get the operation and if we arrived on Friday then we may suffer the hospital departments partially closed for the weekend. However, it was clear that we’d not get to York District Hospital before midnight and they didn’t know we were coming! The advice had been to get to a hospital and go into triage.

From this decisive call I went down to the hospital and joined the walkers and holiday makers on the bus. The region had made this and several ski lifts free to encourage tourists. My bus stop, which was about a mile from the hospital was a very pleasant walk. I counted the different nationalities by the variety of number plates. It added up to 10 in a mile. Quite a destination for all and sundry.

Anna (and Helga) were fine although the room was hot due to the sunshine but the staff buzzed about and seemed to cope with the difficulty of catering for a vegetarian, not a usual Austrian problem it appeared! You take for granted the widespread knowledge of English and whilst it didn’t always help overcoming some cultural differences or medical matters I wouldn’t like to be a German speaker in a British hospital.

That night I said goodbye to the hotel staff and guests and packed. Everyone had been as kind and as helpful as they could be. I left the hotel mid-morning by taxi despite not being collected by an ambulance taxi in the late afternoon from the hospital. Frankly, there was nothing to hang about for in Hinterglemm and my mind was elsewhere. The taxi did turn up with a quasi para medic who drove the Mercedes mini bus to Munich.

She was a nice girl but drove like a nutcase on the no speed limit autobahns. Clutching a stress ball in her right hand and swapping lanes to dive in and out of traffic in outer Munich rush hour traffic was an experience you’d usually pay extra for at a theme park. Anna shut her eyes. At the airport we eventually found the Check In desk.

With a wheel chair you cannot move through Security or onto the aircraft without ‘special assistance’. The downside of this is that we experienced an hour and half delay waiting for this ‘special assistance’ to arrive to push Anna. They were simply late and our abandonment by the now empty Check In desk long after the other passengers had disappeared through Security was stressful.

The flight eventually departed at 11.30pm and you can imagine that arriving in Manchester at past 1pm wasn’t ideal. Neither was the absence of the taxi to take her to Manchester. My car was located at a different Terminal and I had the suitcases to collect and move so it always the plan that she would travel separately and more promptly. However, I managed to exit the Baggage Reclaim and Customs before Anna and looked around Arrivals for a bloke with a sign. There wasn’t one. So, I hung around in Arrivals until she emerged. After a delay thinking someone would appear we called Collinson asking where the driver was. We were told that the driver wouldn’t appear and the only solution was to wait longer for someone new. Given we’d lost about 45 minutes through this fiasco we cut our losses and I went to the Terminal 2 and fetched my car to Terminal 1 and loaded Anna into the back seat and off we went to York District Hospital negotiating part of the M1 being closed!

There are 17 sets of traffic lights from the A64 to York District Hospital; we drove though 16 of those on green where I slumped over the counter at A&E Reception at 4am and related our story. They couldn’t have been more responsive or sympathetic to the ordeal and she was quickly wheeled into Triage. Then X Rays and then in front of a doctor. He looked at her X Rays and confirmed what we knew plus explained a little more about the breaks in the tibia and fibia. We were now in the system. Anna couldn’t come home as we couldn’t move her around the house without a zimmer/walker. They kept her in whilst I drove home in the emerging daylight. My head hit the pillow at 6am.

From here we’re waiting for her operation date. Anna remains calm and lots of friends and family have been in touch. We’re grateful for all the kindness and support. If there are some ‘take aways’ to emphasis then make sure you travel with your GHIC and always have travel insurance.

Hospitals wake early and by breakfast, at my hotel, Anna advised on WhatsApp that the consultant had done his rounds and that they wouldn’t operate and insert the pins. The reason that we eventually extracted was that they needed the bed. Had they decided to do the operation then Anna would have had to stay until the swelling of her ankle went down and then there would be further time after the operation in the hospital before she could fly. They had 60 beds at this small hospital and 46 were currently filled by tourists. (It does make you wonder how many hospital beds are filled by tourists in a major attraction like London, albeit the visitors are not probably skiing or walking up and down mountains: it must be hundreds.) So, with this development I called the emergency medical number for our travel insurer – World First. As it is with these organisations they sub contract the trickier medical bit. This medical insurance was provided by Collinson.

They were responsive and opened a case file. The next step was for them to receive a hospital medical report and for me to complete an accident form. They would then decide the best solution. Their reassuring approach made me feel that I was working with a partner and I trotted off to ask for the medical report. However, from here it was frustrating during the day, to create a dialogue between the hospital and the insurer. Obviously we wanted it moving quickly. The initial problem arose when the hospital wouldn’t provide a written report but would discuss it on the phone. That was irritating but they gave us a contact telephone number to call them. That didn’t connect! I found this out by ringing up Collinson at midday and asking how they’d got on? “Oh, we rang and rang but couldn’t get an answer”.  Calming myself I thought why didn’t you ring me back to get the number checked? Moving on, I did amend the number after pressing the hospital for the correct one.

Not all of my calls were easy with Collinson as the quality of phone signal in these areas was patchy and usually you’d drop off the line at a vital point when you were discussing details. Also, when you went back to Collinson you’d have to go through their protocol of re-affirming details before they would put you through to the case handler you were initially speaking to… “Case Number, name of claimant, date of birth and country where the claimant is claiming from”. Now if this sounds a bit ‘clunky’ rather than such a big deal by this stage you know you holiday is over and delivering a solution for your bride is the only focus. Resolving bureaucracy, language barriers with the Austrians, knowing virtually nothing about ankle breaks or their rectification and not least the pressing importance of a timely intervention being met. Add to this the sorting of this out on busy streets with poor mobile telephone connections in burning hot sunshine and knowing time is of the essence made this into an interesting and intensive activity.

Meanwhile I’m on the bus down the 13 miles of valley to the hospital to see Anna, who’s languishing in her two bed Ward with a testy elderly Austrian woman who snaps at the staff and demands coffee and biscuits at precise times in the morning and afternoon. I christened her Helga. One nurse was admonished for not placing her morning newspaper on her bed rather than a table. However, despite this less attractive side to her personality she spoke a bit of English and liked my voice! She told me and the nurses about my dulcet tones and wondered if I was an actor? In fairness, it was an easy mistake to make. On every visit Anna’s calm, well cared for and knows that despite my impatience a solution will come to pass.

After my visit I trooped up to bus stop in the heat, past the delightful lake, where Collinson rang to say that they had now spoken to the hospital. Yippee.

Laura still had details to sort with the hospital and was also disappointed they wouldn’t operate. I had this conversation at the bus stop on the main road as buses and concrete mixers are grumbling past. “Can you hear me?” “Yes, Laura”. The upshot was that if they couldn’t persuade the hospital they’d fly us home. It might seem obvious given our policy but in a state of heightened anxiety this was a comfort. She’d call tomorrow giving me the plan.

I continued up the valley to Hinterglemm and showered for dinner. The breakfast, lunch (pack up) and dinner were fabulous. Given Anna’s absence I’d had to explain to the waitresses and other Inghams holiday makers what had happened initially and given them a day by day report. This was whilst downing a large beer. I suppose this counts as holiday?

Back in the room I had a long accident report to complete and send along with passport details so that new airline tickets could be booked. Was it all straightforward from here with so many transfers and handlers and how would York District Hospital respond with no prior contact when we turned up at Stupid O’Clock with a broken ankle? Anyway that was tomorrow’s challenge. Now it was sleep.